


Look at Your Life, Look at Your Choices

by boulevarddouble



Series: Scenes from a Shitshow [1]
Category: Professional Overwatch RPF
Genre: Bad Decisions, Bad Flirting, Binge Drinking, Drinking, Drinking Games, Implied Relationships, It's spin the bottle - they all kiss, M/M, Spin the Bottle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:09:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22889833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boulevarddouble/pseuds/boulevarddouble
Summary: Bren has a compulsive need to be the center of attention. Scott likes to push buttons. Jack is new in town. Jake's annoying. Josh is high strung. They all live together. There's no way this could go wrong.
Relationships: JAKE | Jacob Lyon/Jaws | Jack Wright
Series: Scenes from a Shitshow [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1663579
Comments: 9
Kudos: 7





	Look at Your Life, Look at Your Choices

"Shots!" Bren bangs a fist just a bit too hard on the tile of the kitchen island. It makes him wince, but that determined, manic smile is back in a flash. Jack raises an eyebrow but keeps his attention on the stir fry he's attempting. It's just chicken and peppers with ginger, garlic, and a poorly chopped carrot, but he can make it. If he doesn't get distracted, anyway.

Scott, on the other hand, takes the bait. "I thought you were going to K-town."

"Can't." Bren rummages in the cupboard. Six guys in the one drafty house, and just two shot glasses. "Been banned."

"What? By the Koreans?" Jack asks, unable to resist the drama that is Brennon Hook for long. He doesn't know the man that well, they've not even been living together a month, but if anyone could get himself banned from an entire neighborhood in LA, it'd be Bren.

"No. By that," he waves his hand in the direction of the living room, "traitor."

Josh waves back, barely paying attention to anything but his Switch. "You'll thank me in the morning."

"Stole your phone?" Scott asks.

"Stole. My. Phone." There's a handle of Tito's tucked under one of the cupboards, too big to fit in the freezer with all the dumplings and chicken breasts, and Josh's stupid not-real-meat chicken things. Vodka sloshes over the sides as he pours two heavy-handed shots and slides one across the counter to Scott. "Cheers."

Scott shrugs. They're not working tomorrow. Well, they're not on camera tomorrow, which means no one will care if they roll in late. "Cheers, mate."

It burns, because of course it does; it's vodka, straight. Jack, the clutchest motherfucker, drops Scott's carton of orange juice by his hand before he can even ask. Of course, that's when Jake sneaks into the kitchen and plucks a piece of chicken out of the pan with his fingers. 

"Not bad, Jawsy."

"Fucking hell, Jake, if you don't stop eating my food..."

"It was just one time!" 

"If you are in the kitchen," Bren cuts them off before the bickering can really commence, "you are required to drink."

Jake pokes his head back out of the fridge, a half-eaten container of leftover chinese in his hand. It is almost certainly Jack's, as Scott demolished his this morning and Bren's generally doesn't last the night.

Bren's pouring the shots before Jake can even assent. He looks at Scott, like he’ll have some answers, but Scott just shrugs, his ever-present smirk sloping across his mouth. The Aussie bastard is always way too willing to sit back and watch the chaos unfold.

Jake grins, California easy. "You celebrating with us, Jawsy?" 

Jack wrinkles his nose. "Vodka? Is that my mushu pork?"

"Cheers!" Bren clinks his shot against the tile of the counter and Jake has no choice but to follow, coughing slightly. Scott nudges the juice over to him and he takes a swig from the container. 

Bren coughs, too, but makes no move to chase the shot. "He has a point, Jacko, my boy. Jacks, my lad. Mi. Amigo." He draws out the O in a way that makes Jack think this isn't his second shot. 

"Well, what are we celebrating then?" Jack asks, mustering his good cheer. He smiles directly at Jake, who doesn't seem to understand the challenge. 

"The freakin' weekend!"

"It's Thursday!" Josh objects from the couch. He's playing Legend of Zelda again, the music filtering into the kitchen. 

"Traitors don't get a vote!" 

Scott pours Jack a shot, silently raising his own glass. In synch, they drop it to the tile. Jack throws it back just as Josh yells "A vote on _what day of the week_ it is?" His voice always goes high pitched with indignation, Jack can recognize that much by now.

Scott slides Bren a shot, too. "You're a star," he says in lieu of a room-spanning retort. "We should play a game."

The minute the glass hits the tile, Jake taps his finger for another. Custa obliges, indulging the request like a wedding DJ. Jack nods at him when he raises a questioning eyebrow, too busy shoveling stir fry from pan to mouth to actually answer. If the night is going where he expects it to go, which is to say it's probably good that don't have hot water and will all be taking sobering cold showers in the morning, he'll need the protein. Jake snatches another piece of chicken, unrepentant, from the non-stick skillet.

"No more poker," Jake says, though he barely looks at Bren, focused on chasing down a piece of red pepper. "You get very intense about it."

Jack snorts. "Says the most competitive person in the house."

"Lies." Bren turns his attention back to Custa, who somehow manages to lounge in one of the two most uncomfortable bar chairs in America. "Scotty? You in? A little Te-jas Hold 'Em?" He stretches out every syllable like he always does when he's been drinking or thinks he's being cute, the latter usually dependant on the former. 

"Not tonight, mate. Jake's right, you get weird about it." 

For a second, Bren looks crestfallen, but the moment passes quickly, as he fixates on the vodka and takes another shot. It's only Scott who even notices, as Jack and Jake have slipped into a fork-jousting match over his stir fry. 

Scott sighs. "We could play something else?"

"Yeah." He perks up, pouring more shots and sliding them to the boys. The glasses clink against the tile with every shot, more and more vodka sliding into the dingy grey grout. Scott likes to think it's disinfecting things.

"You're all going to get mono," Josh calls from the couch.

Bren pointedly ignores him. The world has gone soupy around the edges, and he smiles, pleased. This is his milieu. Jack, on the other hand, is a lightweight, a disgrace to queen and country, his hand-eye coordination already slipping as Jake neatly parries his fork and grabs another pepper. The mushu pork sits, forgotten, on the counter.

It is, Scott thinks, a liability that they all live in one house. They're simply asking for a disease -- the flu, coronavirus, whatever the fuck Bren picks up -- to sweep through and decimate the league's casting crew. Johnny was smart to get his place downtown. 

"Overwatch?" Jake suggests, and gets roundly boo'd.

"King's Cup?" Bren throws out.

"We need a ping-pong table," Scott says.

Jack pours Jake a shot. He catches himself tracking the bob of Jake's throat as he swallows. It's infuriating. "What? Why?" 

"Beer pong!" Bren answers.

"Are we really in uni?" Jack forces his attention back to the other two, trying not to blush at Scott's raised eyebrow. "Can't we just play Mario Kart?"

Bren shakes his head. "None of you have any imagination."

Jake laughs, and Jack's skin itches. He's always happy to go with the flow, except when Jack's trying to get him to do anything, from washing the dishes to leaving for work on time. "What do you want? Truth or dare?"

"_Truth or dare!_" Josh has gone all high-pitched again.

Scott has lost track of his shots, let alone anyone else's, and it's Josh's mono comment that puts the idea in his head. There's a part of him that knows it's mean to push buttons like he does, and a much louder, vodka-fueled part of him that doesn't care because it's hilarious when Jack goes all red-faced. "Why play truth or dare when we can just play spin the bottle?"

Bren lights up, immediately grabbing a Corona from the fridge and chugging it. Mostly, he goes out to talk, to meet people and feel interesting. Sometimes, if he's really on, the Best Bren he can be, he'll pull, which is a bonus. Scott's watching Jack go from gamer-pasty to flushed, and Jake is, too. He slams the empty bottle on the counter, and all eyes turn back to him. 

Jake shrugs. "What the hell."

"You're all mental," Jack says, but he doesn't move from his spot where they've gathered around the island. Instead, he takes another half-shot, afraid to pour too much and lose the impulsiveness he's gained. Vodka giveth and vodka taketh away.

"Are you really playing spin the bottle?" Josh yells.

"No traitors allowed!" Bren yells back. He's halfway between a pout and that furrow in his brow that means he's really concentrating, but it's just as fleeting as any other expression. "Spin, bitches," he commands. 

The better half of Scott whispers that this all could go very badly, very quickly. The other half of him grabs the beer bottle and spins. The kitchen goes immediately quiet; the only sound, the clack of the glass against the ivory tile. Even Jack is watching it, breath held, as it wobbles to a stop.

Inevitably, it ends up pointing just to Bren's right, more at the fridge than the man, but Scott grins at him all the same. "C'mere, babe." 

"Ooh, Custa, you sweet talker," he says, riding the edge of earnestness and mockery, but he leans across the island anyway, and lets Scott slide a hand behind his neck. His glasses dig into the bridge of his nose as Scott pulls his mouth to his, a gentle, dry press of the lips, like they're saying goodnight after a first date. Bren blinks as they part, off-balance. 

"Cheers," Scott says with a wink, and pours them both shots. 

Bren lets out a whoop, loud enough to wake the gods, and delighted enough that it's infectious. It drags them all into another round of shots, and from there the game devolves into chaos. Bren's spin sees him kiss Jack, egging him on with a "You can do better than that!"

Jack goes beetroot red, and everyone laughs, at him, with him, it doesn't matter at this point. He draws Scott and despite their bad angle, he grabs his chin and kisses him, letting his mouth part just enough to tease out Scott's tongue. 

Josh had wandered in at some point, popping Coronas and passing them out before retiring back to the couch with his own beer. Scott clinks his bottle against Jack's, who smirks and takes a long drag. The handle is half gone, and so is any common sense.

Jake is unsurprisingly touchy, leaning into Scott as the bottle pairs them up twice in a row. Bren's kisses are getting messier as they drink more, but no one cares; they're all a bit uncoordinated now. Jack has to look up to kiss him, and Scott's heart stutters as he watches, blood pounding in his ears at the thought of being the short one for once.

Jack is too busy laughing as Bren launches into a story about the last time he played beer pong to notice when his spin lands on Jake, at least until he gets poked in the arm. 

"Are you going to kiss me or what?" Jake asks, more of a challenge than a question. He's leaning on his forearms, halfway across the island already.

"Or what," he retorts, brain on vodka-pilot. 

It's the only thing that keeps him from stopping as he leans in. Their noses brush as Jake's head tilts, his smile slipping only as their lips meet. It's not kind, it can't be for Jack, not anymore, but it's not angry, either. Jake opens his mouth eagerly, twisting his fingers into the front of Jack's shirt. He draws Jack to him further and further until he has to cup the back of Jake's head just to hold him in place to kiss him properly. He can feel Jake shiver as his pinky strokes over the nape of his neck.

Scott whistles as they slide apart to catch their breath. If he turned his head an inch, they'd be kissing again, which isn't the point of the game, but Jack doesn't care to move. 

"You taste like garlic." Jake's eyes sparkle as they sweep over Jack's red face.

"Fuck off."

"Ugh, this is boring." Bren drains the rest of his beer and wanders into the living room. 

With a chuckle, Scott finally gets up, the bar chair squealing across the terracotta floor tiles. "And that's my cue for bed. Have a good night, lads." He clinks his half-full beer against Jake's forgotten one "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

It takes a moment for Jack to process that. "Wait, what _wouldn't_ Scott do?"

Jake smiles, and it's like a switch has been flipped. This isn't young Jake trying to feel his way around the new world of talent. It's wolfish. Conspiratorial. Like he knows he's got the sight line and the barrage. "Want to find out?" 

Bren bounces onto the couch and nudges Josh's Switch-holding arm out of the way so he can lay his head in his lap.

"You just made me lose that fish," Josh grouses. In the kitchen, he can hear Jack and Jake talking in hushed tones, but it's no fun to eavesdrop any more. 

Bren just yawns. "Put on Netflix."

"I'm not watching any of that anime shit."

"It's not shit, you have no appreciation for art."

Josh rolls his eyes, but reaches for the remote. The shift makes Bren protest, but he settles down when Josh drops a hand to his hair, idly stroking it while he flicks through documentaries.

"You stole my phone."

"You said you'd do that video VO with Johnny at nine a.m."

David Attenborough's gentle cadence is the perfect lullaby in the twilight of the living room. 

"Nine a.m.? That was stupid. Couldn't have been me."

"Mmmhmm," Josh agrees. "No, you only do stupid things like dye your hair blonde like a wanker."

Bren huffs out a laugh, wiggling until he's wedged his shoulders into a more comfortable crevice of the overstuffed couch. Josh's thighs are kind of bony for a pillow, but they work okay. "You're the wanker who shaved his eyebrows."

Slim fingers card through Bren's terrible hair. "Takes one to know one, I guess."

**Author's Note:**

> The first rule of RPF is we don't talk about RPF to the people it's about, ok?
> 
> Big thank yous to my beta K who said "Jack and Jake look a lot alike" and to L who said "what if they kiss?" and thereby birthed this nonsense.


End file.
